Command and Conkers
by Come Hither Ashes
Summary: The three Musketeers are in more than each other's pockets, lately, and the boys are finding the differences between 'come-hither-stare' and 'get-over-there' a little difficult. Athos has had enough, it's time to crack the whip, and Porthos isn't happy about it. (OT3 established.)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **This is actually a prequel to a prompt I was given, because I'm mad for backstory but mostly because something struck me about shipping OT3. Having talked to WizzKiz about wolves and hierarchy (due to her Avengers fanfic Chaotic Howling, which features a shape-shifting OFC), I started wondering how Porthos and Athos dealt with the power-changes in and out of the bedroom. Thing is, in my headcanon, the boys aren't wolves, they're cats.

* * *

><p><strong>Command and Conkers<strong>

"Tale as old as time,  
>True as it can be.<br>Barely even friends,  
>Then somebody bends,<br>Unexpectedly."

- '_Beauty and the Beast_'

* * *

><p>Of course, love was never that easy.<p>

Every day that Athos awoke to Aramis humming and Porthos snoring reminded him that this was right, that the three of them were meant to happen. No matter whether the sun shone or the heavens opened, Athos could find intoxicating joy in simply _being _with them.

That sort of contentment was sorely sought after; he had lived for too long with his own happiness on the backburner, with it mired in his own misery. Only with them were his smiles real, his laughs genuine, his happiness _true_.

It lasted until they clipped the last of their gear on and headed for the outside world.

There was something about stepping out of their front doors that changed something intrinsic about the three of them. It was the thin line that delineated lovers and Musketeers; the dark cloud on their sunny horizon was that they all saw it differently.

Athos saw that line like a wall that shouldn't be scaled, and he was firmly on the Musketeers side of it. Every waking moment was swathed in powder blue, his shoulder gratifyingly heavy with fleur-de-lis embossed leather.

If he stood on his tiptoes, he could see Porthos scowling on the other side of the wall.

For Porthos, Musketeer business started only when they left Treville's office with a commission in their hands, and their relationship was the bedrock for everything else. Porthos drew his strength from what they did behind closed doors, and he wanted to do it _out _of them, too.

Naturally, Aramis straddled both sides of the wall.

Oh, it was easy for Aramis, he managed to entwine a routine patrol with a sly wink, or boring guard-duty with whispered words that managed to heat their blood to uncomfortable levels.

It was diverting, it was fun, but Aramis knew when to stop, and Athos knew when to drag them off for an impromptu _debriefing _when their work was done.

Porthos didn't want to stop, he wanted the debriefing right then, and that was the problem.

When Athos rolled out of bed in the morning, trying to dress with Aramis pawing at his clothes and Porthos watching from the bed, he was their lover. When Athos put his hat over his freshly-dunked curls and stood before Treville, he was not.

His love turned into protection, formed by the duty that he always felt in his heart. They looked to him for guidance when the bullets flew, they followed him because of his cool head and cooler commands, and that was how he loved them.

Porthos, however, could not get his head around the fact that the Athos who had, only a few hours ago, slept in his arms, was now the Athos who murmured an order and expected it followed.

It hadn't been a problem until the three of them had been staking out an alleyway and Porthos' flirting had almost distracted them from watching their mark. It wasn't Aramis' subtle playing, the one that alleviated the boredom, this was disrupting, dangerous.

Porthos hadn't listened when Athos had ordered him to stop.

Aramis had frozen, half pinned against the wall by Porthos' crowding, but Porthos had continued, had _ignored _him.

That night had ended in their first argument, Porthos yelling and Athos hissing, Aramis trying to balance both ends of the seesaw, Treville furious because they had alerted their mark.

Athos had lost count how many times something similar had happened, how many times Porthos had tried to shift the power dynamic and Athos had yanked it under control again.

It wouldn't be long before Porthos deliberately undermined him in front of d'Artagnan, and Athos wasn't sure if they could handle that.

The day had started out so well.

The four of them came to a stop, chests heaving from the run that had started by the Palace and ended somewhere outside the city walls. "We will stand a better chance of finding them if we split up," Athos murmured, forcibly not letting his eyes find Porthos' as they wanted to.

He had refused to force his authority down Porthos' throat until the time called for it.

It was time.

Aramis and d'Artagnan both made noises of agreement, but Athos felt Porthos' lack of one like a whiplash across his spine. When he met Porthos' gaze, Athos did it with a straight back and a disinterested expression, he couldn't have eked _leader _any more than if he had held the figurative whip that Porthos seemed determined to wrest off of him.

"Nah, we stick together." Porthos was matter-of-fact, but Athos read the challenge in his dark eyes just as easily as he read the sudden discomfort on d'Artagnan's face.

Athos took a measured breath, determined to not let this get out of his control. "It makes more sense to split up-"

"I don't care," Porthos interrupted, not noticing the way Aramis looked to the skies, "If one 'f us gets caught then we're knackered."

"I don't particularly care for your tone, Porthos," Athos replied, completely unable to help the ice that slicked his voice, furious that Porthos was doing this _now_. "We split up."

Porthos' chin rose ever-so-slightly, stubborn anger written in every solid line of muscle. Athos simply raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting that his instructions be followed.

"That," he murmured, "is an order, Musketeer."

Porthos twitched, and if he had been an animal, his hackles would have risen as he growled.

D'Artagnan looked between them both, shifting from foot-to-foot in a clear attempt to get away from the brewing tension. Finally, Aramis stepped in the middle of their stand-off, soothing gaze meeting Porthos first.

Athos was both pleased and frustrated by that.

"How should we split, Athos, in pairs?"

Aramis was offering them both a way out without losing face, without forcing one of them to back down to the other. Athos felt the urge to bare his teeth like Porthos did when he was furious, the way he was restraining himself from doing right now.

"Yes, naturally in pairs," he murmured, and without taking his eyes from Porthos', added, "Aramis, with me."

Porthos' lip twitched, the precursor to a snarl, but then d'Artagnan was there to drag him forcibly by the arm, and Porthos obeyed if only because he didn't want to hurt the boy.

Athos kept his braced stance until the pair disappeared into the trees, and only then did he notice Aramis tapping his foot and staring at him strangely. "Yes?"

"Are you quite finished?"

Athos let his shoulders rise and fall in the smallest of shrugs. "Yes."

They were alone now, and Aramis visibly relaxed when Athos lifted a hand to brush along Aramis' arm briefly, needing that bit of comfort after staring Porthos down.

Athos inclined his head towards the forest, and only when Aramis smiled and started off ahead of him did Athos allow himself to frown. The power dynamic had shifted very drastically, and he wasn't sure what to do about it.

He felt the control slipping from his fingers, and Porthos with it.

* * *

><p>"We need to talk."<p>

Athos very nearly fluffed his footing as he planned to step out of the treeline and into the sunlight. He looked over his shoulder to see Aramis with his arms crossed and a frown puckering his brow.

They should be on their way back to Paris; Porthos had sent d'Artagnan with word that they had found their mark. The boy had breathlessly detailed the chase and then scampered off to find Porthos again, leaving Athos to sigh heartily as he realised that at some point there would need to be words.

Except that it seemed Aramis insisted on having his say, first.

"What an ominous thing to say," he murmured, but dutifully turned tail and walked up to Aramis, reaching out with one hand to cup his neck.

They were alone, the job was done, it was harmless.

He had expected Aramis to relax under his touch as he had earlier, but instead, Aramis stared at his hand in something akin to thoughtful consideration. "You are a mystery, Athos de la Fére."

His breath caught, an old fear skittering along his bones. "You said that to me when we first met." When he had settled into command like it was a second skin, when he had found his purposes in life, when Porthos had _trusted_ him to lead.

That lack of trust hurt far more than he would ever let on.

"And you're as much a mystery now as you were then," Aramis said matter-of-factly, and pushed his cheek into Athos' palm when he would have pulled away, when the fear felt too familiar.

Athos frowned but stroked a thumb across Aramis' cheek. "I'm not as open as Porthos, no, but who is?"

Aramis' smile was small. "There isn't one in a million men as open as Porthos, but you are just as unique, _mon cher, _come." Athos let himself be dragged along when Aramis brought him deeper into the forests, easily obeying the push on his shoulders when Aramis wanted them to sit at the base of a tree.

He moved a few horse-chestnuts out of the way and tugged Aramis down with him, letting Aramis wriggle until they sat side-by-side with their backs against the bark.

He could let his guard down now because his status didn't change in Aramis' eyes, Aramis was happy to follow him in and out of the bedroom, to trust and be trusted, and Athos liked watching Aramis' spine go from straight to arching at his quiet words.

It was Porthos who had trouble relinquishing control when fleur-de-lis' graced their shoulders.

Athos sighed, feeling the lightness of the morning flee from the snapping jaws of responsibility. "I can't let this pass, Aramis, I can't have Porthos openly disobeying me."

"Porthos doesn't deal with change well, _mon cher_, he doesn't understand why things have to change."

"Why?" Athos asked exasperatedly. "How can they not? We are _Musketeers_, Aramis, we have a duty to the crown." He dragged his hand through his hair until Aramis tugged it out and linked their fingers together. The little act of comfort made him soften and add, "And to each other. I cannot protect you both if Porthos doesn't _listen _to me."

He had spent the first few weeks of their relationship jumping at every shadow, convinced that they would be discovered, that the next time they were together would be at the gallows. It was a nightmare that still plagued him from time to time, and he would _not _let it happen just because Porthos found the _necessity _of change difficult.

"I think that is Porthos' problem," Aramis admitted, but it wasn't said nervously, it was sympathetic, his light brown eyes warm and tender. "His protection is borne of the heart, not the head, and it means you end up differing."

Athos thunked backwards against the bark and felt helpless exhaustion whisper behind his eyelids. "Out here, my place is different, I can.. I can _bend _when we're together, but I refuse to do so when we step outside." He sat up to look Aramis in the eye, needing to know that he understood. "It doesn't change how I feel."

Aramis tilted his head in awkward consideration. "It is hard to believe that you love us when you draw back."

Athos blinked in shock, a little unsure as to whether it was that blatant declaration or because they could even _think_-

His brain raced past its normal overclocking speed and found a culprit. "Is this because I won't sleep with you when we're on the road?"

Aramis' nod was a little sheepish. "I know you don't want d'Artagnan to know but-"

"Good Lord, Aramis," Athos sighed, the back of his head finding the bark again, "If d'Artagnan doesn't know about us by now then he's not the quick study I know him to be – and do not tell him I said that, his head is big enough, lately."

Aramis gave him a smile but it was confused. "Then why…?"

"Because I don't want to be stumbled upon by a religious man who might take umbrage at Porthos' arm on my thigh and yours on my chest," he explained dryly, alarm still thread through his tone at how Aramis had misjudged him.

Aramis frowned and then it cleared into a laugh. "Athos, have you ever considered that the last time we were sneaked upon was three years ago, and that only because you had gone on the search for more wine?"

Athos felt a smile curve his lips at the memory. "I came back to find you aiming blindly at the doorway and Porthos growling something about mauling anyone who disturbed his beauty sleep."

"You see?" Aramis stroked his fingers for emphasis. "Together, we're impassable. You don't need to worry about things like that, we won't be… found out."

Athos shook his head, the anxiety that always clung at his thoughts still weighing him down. "It was a maid, that time, what if it had been someone intent on hurting you?"

Aramis rose onto his knees, bringing his face closer until they were separated by a mere inch. "Then you will stop them, _mon cher_, that is why you're the leader, is it not?" Aramis feathered a kiss over his lips, and it seemed to pierce the wall of worry.

"You.. are not opposed to my commands?"

"Athos," Aramis murmured, and it took a moment for Athos to realise that it was a little sly, "I quite like your commands, and if Porthos wasn't so confused by them, he would, too."

Athos coughed a surprised laugh. "I don't think Porthos holds me in quite the same regard, _mon coeur_."

Aramis hummed in consideration, and continued doing so as he stole another kiss. "All the more for me, then."

Athos scoffed lightly, enjoying the taste of Aramis' lips. "You're the one that toes the line, I don't need to tell you what to do." Aramis' smile grew wicked, and Athos arched an eyebrow. "Do not even think about it."

"What?" Aramis asked innocently, and trailed the hand that wasn't still linked along Athos' leg.

He held Aramis' lip between his teeth, pleased when he heard Aramis' breath hitch and felt the wave of stillness that overcame the slender length of Musketeer. He sucked the hurt, swallowing Aramis' breathy moan, and in one smooth motion pulled him onto his lap.

Aramis flowed like water, his smile delighted and mischievous.

Athos let his hands settle on sinful hips and eyed Aramis' hat, his smirk satisfied when Aramis drew it off and the sunshine covered his hair instead.

"Why can't Porthos accept my command as well as you do, hm?" he idly asked the gorgeous man.

Aramis basked in the dappled light, his fingers dipping past Athos' shirt to touch the skin underneath. "I like it when you raise your eyebrow at me," he whispered confidentially.

Athos obliged and received a stunning smile for his effort. As his thumbs made small circles on Aramis' waist, he said reluctantly, "We should get back."

"You shouldn't go back in anger, Athos," Aramis chided gently, making alarmingly quick work of Athos' buttons.

Athos let his eyes lid as he heaved a sigh filled with faux-weariness. "No, perhaps you are right." He pushed Aramis' shirt up to expose the golden skin underneath. "Arch for me, Musketeer."

Athos caught a pleased gleam of a leopard's smile in the sunshine.

* * *

><p>Athos was definitely not angry anymore.<p>

They both paused outside the archway to the garrison, Aramis straightening Athos' jacket and Athos quickly swapping their hats. When they were presentable, they strode into the courtyard like men on a mission.

No one would have thought that they had been up to anything mischievous, no one would have even considered them doing anything other than lawful Musketeer work.

No one, that is, except Porthos.

His glower could have melted the silver from his hastily done-up buttons – and now Athos was wondering if he should have let Aramis do them up. "Where've you been?"

Aramis' swift duck of his head deferred to Athos, as he always did when they were in trouble, so Athos shrugged. "We were waylaid."

D'Artagnan frowned, his concern obvious. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine, thank you," Athos murmured, restraining the urge to run a hand through his hair or rub a thumb along the faint mark under his collar.

He shot a glance at Aramis, effectively halting his incredibly obvious raised arm from doing something ridiculous like removing his hat. Aramis' curls were mussed six ways from Sunday, and Athos didn't particularly want to rub anything in Porthos' very angry face.

Well, he did, but he didn't want to have some knuckles tapping his jaw any time soon.

D'Artagnan was taking his cues from Athos, and as he was relaxed, the boy was relaxed too. "Treville wants to see us."

"Wonderful, and are we to be thrown to the wolves?" It was a question that could have been about two things. It could have been seen as how angry Treville was, or it could be taken as whether Porthos would join them or not.

Porthos had almost side-tracked their mission today, but then Aramis and he had disappeared for a telling amount of time when there was work to be done.

Work that Porthos could easily handle by himself, of course, but still.

Still that _wall _loomed between them.

"He's pissed, but we'll manage." Porthos jerked his head up at Treville's office, telling him to go first, to walk in front of him, to expose his back, to be _told._

Athos paused at the base of the stairs, wondering whether he was meant to read something in the difference between Porthos' words and his actions.

Normally, after a command like that, he would have murmured, "After you," threading a demand in with the unfailing politeness. However, he only had to take one look at the tight line of Porthos' shoulders to know that he was struggling.

With the memory of Aramis' kiss still on his lips, and the worried look d'Artagnan was starting to give him, Athos could relent, he could _bend_, just this once.

For all of their sakes.

And so he simply nodded, taking command by leading and having them follow him, their fanning out around him when they stood before Treville, them backing him up and he shielding them.

Porthos bit his tongue and kept quiet when they shared the blame for taking so long, no one mentioning the argument that had taken place outside the city walls or their dallying on the way back.

Athos let Porthos out of the room first, inclining his head when Porthos grumbled a thank you and seemed to relax a little. They both realised that neither would go for the other, and there was only silence when Aramis carefully drew a conker from his pocket.

Athos produced two more, and the three battered-yet-perfect seeds now sat amongst their pistols on the dresser. He caught Porthos staring at them at one point, and found himself dragged into an impromptu hug before Porthos stomped off to the other room.

It was a patchy solution, not quite right, the wound still seething under Aramis' careful attention, his healing skills not suited for this. They both existed in some sort of limbo, neither quite sure of the other, both wary of talking too loudly or insisting too much.

They didn't argue that night and it was Porthos who bent next, a muttered apology over Aramis' sleeping form curled up between them.

It went some way towards breaking down the wall, and Athos was already reaching for Porthos' hand when they met midway, their fingers linking over Aramis' chest.

Neither of them were ones for declarations of love, they left that to Aramis, but perhaps, in time, things would settle and they would understand each other. This was new, after all, and love was never easy.

"Sleep, Musketeer."

Athos caught an irritated glint of a tiger's eyes in the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Writing a prequel solely for the purpose of explaining a dynamic is new for me, especially one so awash in angst. Please let me know if you liked it, or want to discuss it with me! You can catch me here, on my AO3, or at my Tumblr.

Subscribe for the next chapter, where Athos bends and explores the power that it brings. Also, fluff!


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **The original chapter! This is the one I wrote first after receiving a prompt from LancelotTheBrave on my Tumblr: "I need a smutty oneshot where Athos bares his throat to Porthos for whatever reason, could be anything, just smutty."

So, fair warning, this chapter is about Athos learning to bend and maybe liking it a little. Contains swearing, angry!Porthos, power dynamics, Athos/Porthos smut, switch!Athos.

* * *

><p><strong>Bull in a China Shop<strong>

"Just a little change,  
>Small, to say the least.<br>Both a little scared,  
>Neither one prepared."<br>- '_Beauty and the Beast_'

* * *

><p>"I'll fuckin' kill 'im."<p>

"You'll do nothing of the sort, Aramis needs us here," Athos remarked neutrally, but threaded a command in with it, unnerved by Porthos' rapidly escalating rage, by the reckless edge to his fury.

How many weeks had passed since they had settled into a tenuous agreement, Porthos just barely following his commands during the day and then bruising his skin with kisses in the evenings?

He should have known that it wouldn't last.

Porthos stabbed a finger in the closed door's direction. "He's out cold 'cause some Guard bastard jumped 'im!"

Athos raised an eyebrow, deliberately maintaining an air of calm to try and soften Porthos' wrath. "Do you think revenge will heal his bruises, soothe his dignity?"

"It'll soothe my fuckin' anger," Porthos muttered, but it was without the bite of before and Athos nearly sighed in relief. Porthos was protective at the best of times, but when one of them was badly injured, he threw sense out of the window and hungered for revenge in the fiercest possible fashion.

It was endearing in a blood-thirsty sort of way, but they couldn't risk a reprisal from Richelieu right now, certainly not when Aramis needed them. "This isn't about you," he reminded quietly, hoping to nip this in the bud.

It was the wrong thing to say.

Porthos' rage returned, its slumber short-lived and all the worse for it. "We weren't there to protect 'im!"

And there was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Aramis had insisted that he go alone to meet the courier – _it's in broad daylight, Porthos, calm down _– and Athos had agreed to it, unable to deny Aramis and a little pleased to deny Porthos.

In all honesty, the only reason that Athos wasn't out for blood himself was because Aramis was fine. It had started with a nasty concussion and then he had nearly gored himself on his attacker's shoddily held knife, but it was nothing a few days of rest wouldn't fix.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Porthos.

Porthos' anger was like a roaring fire, it crackled at the edges and threatened to consume everything in its path, but Athos would not let it pass him to have Porthos burn them all.

A part of him wanted to growl in Porthos' face, to shove Porthos' intimidating rage in his own face for once. Athos felt tormented, _attacked _by Porthos' subtle jab for not protecting Aramis. He thought that they had gotten past this, that Porthos knew where the land lay and that Athos _needed _to do this, to protect them all.

Porthos had simply brought that wall back up to its full height again, the one that separated lovers and Musketeers; Athos would defend his side of the wall with his teeth if it kept Porthos from doing something senseless.

He just hoped that Porthos listened to him.

"He doesn't need you to protect him, Porthos," he said icily, and threw his figurative cards onto the cable, playing the ace he always kept hidden in his sleeve – a trick that Porthos had taught him. "You are not the leader here."

Porthos stilled, and when Athos met his gaze, it was to look into the eyes of a berserker from the tales of old. Unexpected fear ran a tingling trail up his spine, as if he was staring down a tiger intent on tearing its mate's attacker to shreds. "What'd you just say?"

Athos gritted his teeth against the sound of that deadly threat wrapped in his lover's voice. "I do not give you permission to hunt down Aramis' attacker, not now."

Porthos' lip raised into a snarl, something disbelieving and furious in his dark eyes. "Y'know we don't bring that leader shit up 'ere. I let you lead when we're on the road but-"

"Do you?" he interrupted, dark interest laden in his tone. "Do you _let _me lead?" There was a faint flicker of regret across Porthos' face before the snarl returned.

"Who we are out there ain't nothin' to do with _us_, with the three of us."

Athos stood his ground even though he half-wanted to relent. "It is when you _force_ me to lead. I might have insisted on you going with Aramis if you hadn't been so bloody minded about him going alone."

"So you're deliberately bein' an ass?"

"I'm deliberately leading," he gritted out, forcing his voice to neutrality, "because I'm not the one who thinks it's a good idea to hunt down Guards." His lip curled almost enough to bare his teeth. "The right to lead is mine, as are you, Musketeer."

Porthos' scarred eyelid twitched and menace was a rumble in his words. "Don't turn this into Musketeer business, Athos."

"We are _always _Musketeers," he snapped, tired of the discussion, of Porthos thinking with his heart and not his head, of being forced to command when he wanted only to comfort. "Everything we do is Musketeer business."

"This is about Aramis!"

Athos took a measured breath and deliberately stepped between Porthos and the door, acutely aware that it was like standing in front of a rampaging beast. "Is it?" he asked lowly, "Or is it simply you looking for a fight?"

Porthos jerked as if Athos had shot him, and when Porthos' fingers curled in on themselves and something cold glinted in his dark eyes, Athos knew – somewhere deep inside where terror still reigned over the civilised parts of him – that he had crossed a line.

"Porthos-" He cut himself off when Porthos' chin rose in a jerk, mindless rage looming at him until Athos felt an almost overpowering urge to flee from the power of it.

But that wasn't what he did; he was the one who stood up to Porthos' rage and fought him down from it, that was how he always did it.

This time felt different.

The control was truly slipping from his fingers.

"Move," Porthos whispered, and the words were barely discernible through the growl of uncontrolled anger.

"No."

Porthos took a step towards him and Athos' mind nearly blanked from shock. This had never happened before, Porthos always backed down from him, _always_.

"I'm gonna get past you, Athos, an' then I'm gonna tear a hole in every Guard I see for what that fucker did to Aramis." Porthos' voice was disturbingly flat, as if his murderous spree was already decided and Athos could do nothing to stop him.

He tried again stubbornly, not allowing the power dynamic to shift so drastically, not alter his _place _in their relationship, in their _world_. "Porthos, no-"

"Tell me 'no' one more time, Athos, an' I won't stop 'til I've gutted the Cardinal, too."

Athos reeled backwards, instinctively reacting to the pure intimidation that Porthos was exuding. Distress simmered under Athos' skin, his mind playing out exactly what would happen if he let Porthos go, if he didn't _stop _him.

He would _not _let them go to the gallows, but his commands weren't working, his orders weren't heeded. In fact, his usual responses were making everything worse, and Porthos was worrying him, that cold rage in his eyes was so unlike the Porthos that he and Aramis loved.

Porthos was lost to his anger. Athos knew that he had to do something, _anything_ to calm him down, to keep them all safe; he had to show this feral animal that Porthos had become that he was no threat-

Realisation hit like a wave, reluctance pouring through him until he thought that he might be sick.

There was only one other time Porthos had been like this, and he only knew about it because he had been away when it happened, and Aramis had told him about it upon his return, hushed tones over a bottle of wine as Porthos slept in the next room.

But Aramis had grinned with the telling, a flash of fire in his smile and suck marks on his neck that had made Athos pull him into his lap and demand he arch in just the same way that he had for Porthos.

There was only one way to bring Porthos down from that terrifyingly high peak, only one way to show the protective tiger that everything would be okay, and it was something that Athos had refused to do ever since he had sent his wife to that tree.

Porthos' already worn patience snapped; he approached, footsteps loud and threatening, lip raised in a silent snarl, violence written in every line of his body.

Athos lowered his eyes to the floor, forcing them to stay there even though his instincts were roaring at him to stand tall and _fight_.

Porthos stilled, his gaze roaming over Athos' body until he felt it like weight, hot and heavy and infuriatingly dominant.

Athos closed his eyes, forced the tension from his shoulders and, overcoming every survival trait that he had cultivated after Anne's hanging, he tilted his head and bared his neck. Vulnerability was a scream in his thoughts, but Porthos' safety overrode it all.

Athos would bend, it felt so close to breaking, and he hated it – but he would do it for Porthos, for the three of them.

When nothing happened, the air deathly still, his natural authority would not let him simply stand there for the slaughter. He met Porthos' gobsmacked gaze with a challenging one, and murmured, "Well?"

The tension cracked like a whip.

Porthos lunged for him. The wall met his back as Porthos' palms slammed against the stone beside his head, one dropping to drag across his hip and clench. Pain sparked deliciously in his neck as teeth caught his jugular and held him in place, Porthos crowding him until he couldn't move an inch even if he wanted to.

The submission burned, but it was unexpectedly intoxicating. Athos obeyed a long-repressed – but still very small – urge, and arched to expose his neck further. Porthos' growl of approval was like kindling to the fire, a smile sparking at Athos' lips when Porthos' attention was wholly diverted from his path of destruction.

He finally understood why Aramis played the part that he did, it was _power _in the most sensual of ways.

Porthos' anger had morphed into intense lust and he tugged at Athos' waist, trying to propel him towards the bedroom, an invitation that he had no trouble denying even when he wasn't trying to distract Porthos.

It was that eagerness, of course, that confused Porthos when they were on the road, because Athos could compose himself then, keep his mind on the task at hand.

Right now, the task at hand was unquestionably: Porthos.

"Aramis is sleeping," he panted, surprised by the huskiness of his voice. "Here, I want you here."

Porthos paused to lick the marks his teeth had made with an amused huff. "You an' your fuckin' orders, Athos."

Porthos pushed closer, pinning him against the wall again until all Athos could feel was hard, heated muscle against every inch of his body. It was startlingly reassuring to feel shielded from the world. Aramis and Porthos knew that he was the one who kept watch whilst on the road, and it felt ever so comforting to let someone _else _do the watching for a while.

Even if he did still have his ear cocked for movement, he knew that Porthos would be his buffer for anyone that might walk through the door.

Athos might even be able to _relax_, just a small amount, mind; just enough to enjoy a once-in-a-lifetime bending for the protective man at his throat.

Porthos' mouth laved heat over the blooming bruise, sending desire spiralling through Athos until he tipped his head back against the wall and hissed, "The orders are for your own good."

To his own annoyance, he cried out when Porthos bit him in reprimand, teeth finding the exact same spot as before to make him shudder. "Not in here they ain't."

"Is that so?" he asked, wondering exactly when he had handed the reins over, and whether it was actually Aramis who had held them all of this time with his charming and affectionate manipulation.

They both did whatever he wanted, didn't they? And orders had never crossed Aramis' lips.

"Yeah," Porthos murmured against his ear, teeth grazing his earlobe until he shivered, "In here? You're mine." Athos bucked involuntarily as lust shot through him, and he opened his mouth hungrily when Porthos dipped to press their lips together.

The taste of Porthos' tongue was like the sweetest of oils, but when Porthos pulled back to grin lazily at him, Athos forced a disinterested sigh, "No, you're mine, Musketeer."

Porthos' eyes flashed predatorily, and then he spun Athos around until his forearms crashed onto the dresser and he had to grab for the three conkers that almost rolled off. One of Porthos' hands reached around Athos' waist and the other tugged at his own breeches, and Athos couldn't stop the needy noise that came from his throat.

This wasn't _him_, he was the leader, he should be the one giving the orders, not submitting to the delicious roughness of Porthos' hands.

A clink of a bottle, a kiss against his spine, fingers on his hip that tried to pet but bruised in the most wonderful of ways instead.

He realised with a strangely thrilled lurch of his stomach that, for once, he was definitely not in control.

There was a heady moment where Athos realised that he had distracted Porthos with _sex_, but then Porthos thrust into him with slippery ease and everything fractured into blinding light, his cry mingling with Porthos' groan.

Athos tried to stand, to reassert some authority, but then Porthos' fingers tangled in his hair and tugged until he fell forwards onto his palms. "It's for your own good, Athos," Porthos panted, grin outrageously evident in his voice. "Say it."

Athos grimaced, his nails digging into his palms as he resolutely refused. Porthos pulled all the way out and pushed back in with torturous slowness, sliding his hand along Athos' cock at the same time. "Say it."

"It's for my own good!" he snapped desperately when Porthos stilled completely.

A satisfied chuckled filled the sweaty air, "Atta boy."

Athos would have muttered something insulting, some challenge about the practice courts and payment in full, but then Porthos' grip tightened and his pace quickened and Athos was utterly lost to the rhythm.

He must have made a startled noise at the unusual swiftness to Porthos' usual lazy movements, because Porthos pressed fully along his back to murmur against his skin, "I'm rewardin' you, tha's what you always say to us when we're sparrin', right?"

His nod was more of a jerk of his head, but Porthos' hand smoothed through his hair in acknowledgement. "Yeah, 'xactly," a purr across his neck, "so do as your told an' come for me_._" The order was coupled with a pull at his scalp, the one he firmly maintained that he didn't enjoy. "_Now._"

Athos felt astonishment like the lash of a whip against every inch of flesh, and to his own abject surprise, arousal overcame him like a wave cresting a ship and he toppled into euphoria.

He came in a storm of curse words and reached back to find Porthos' hand questing for his. Their fingers linked and Athos had just enough sanity left to circle his hips and smirk when Porthos swore viciously.

Aftershocks rolled through him like ripples on a still pond, and when Porthos shuddered against him and more sparks flared behind his eyelids, he mumbled something incoherent about authority being a tricky beast.

Porthos pulled gently on his hair to make him rise, and simply chuckled when Athos glared at him for it. "Do not push your luck, Porthos."

He did _not_ fall onto Porthos' chest, Porthos simply held him there, grinning all the while. "But pushin' my luck with you is the funnest thing I've ever done."

Athos sniffed, aiming for haughty but knowing it sounded pleased. It was ridiculously difficult to be aloof when pleasure was still glowing in every vein. Instead, he pushed against Porthos' shoulders to make him fall into a chair, and focused on retying his breeches.

Porthos obeyed the push without hesitation and, pausing only to press a kiss against Athos' upturned lips that felt almost _relieved_. Athos realised a little belatedly – his brain was working at about half-capacity right now – that something intrinsic had changed again.

The wall had gone.

Oh, the line was still there, the one that Athos would step over when they stepped outside, but it was permeable now, manageable.

Bizarrely, by bending to Porthos in here, he had solidified the hierarchy out there. As he had trusted Porthos to shield him from the world, Porthos could trust him to do the same.

Athos fingered the warm bruise on his neck a little wonderingly, and mused that love, although not always easy, simply had to be fought for.

As, evidently, did dominance.

"I can't believe you said it," Porthos said in surprise, but there was a distinct amount of smugness there, too, victory a gleam in his tiger's eyes as he laid a protective hand over the three conkers that were still, miraculously, on the dresser.

Athos simply raised an eyebrow, took careful note of the exhausted rise and fall of Porthos' chest, and nonchalantly collected Porthos' breeches and boots so that he couldn't get to them.

"I can't believe you fell for it," he called over his shoulder, and when there were a few seconds of stunned silence followed by a burst of laughter, Athos smirked, feeling lightness take a firm hold of his heart once again, contentment a blooming in his chest.

He smirked until he walked into the bedroom and stopped short on the threshold.

Aramis' eyes were open, clear, and very interested, as a full-blown smile of invitation played about his lips. "Did you arch for him, _mon cher_?"

Athos paused, ensnared by the gleeful glimmer in Aramis' eyes. "Yes."

Aramis' smile turned deliciously dark. "Show me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I have almost never written Athos/Porthos smut before, certainly not with Athos being like "HEY, HOLD MY WHIP, BRO", so please let me know what you thought.

Another chapter, perhaps? Porthos obeying Athos' command on the road, Aramis convincing Athos that no one's around for miles...? Let me know! Or, come prompt me at my Tumblr, ComeHitherAshes!


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